Five Times Harry Drank On The Job
by JawlinesandCheekbones
Summary: Harry tries to be the paragon of proper performance within the Auror Department, but after his promotion to Head Auror, complete with new partner, he finds that a bit... tricky. Slash.
1. Exasperation

_**Harry Potter and all related copyright do not belong to me. Story is compliant through most of the epilogue, meaning I have changed only some names, ages, and numbers of children. There will be slash.**_

_**The companion piece to this fic is up: Five Times Ron Drank On The Job (.net/s/7602512/1/Five_Times_Ron_Drank_On_The_Job)**_

_**It is a small, Harry/Ron friendship piece in a similar vein to this one, each event occuring at roughly or near the same time. The way it's going, the last chapter will effectively act as a sequel.**_

_**Needless to say it will be H/D**_

_** If you think you would enjoy it, please take a look!**_

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><p>Groaning with exasperation, Harry plunked down behind his oak desk. He reached to the back of the bottom right hand drawer, pulling out his carefully stashed bottle of Ogden's Finest.<p>

"It couldn't have been that bad," Ron commented dryly, leaning back in the plaid and polka-dotted armchair he had transfigured from one of Harry's more atrocious office warming gifts.

"It's a death sentence." The freckle-faced auror rolled his eyes at his friend's melodrama.

"So what if Kingsley decided your new position was coming with a new partner? You should be celebrating the fact that you're Head Auror now, instead of griping about how you won't be able to make my life hell during those 24/7 stakeouts anymore," Ron ended with a laugh, ignoring the dirty look shot to him from behind the heavy desk.

"You haven't heard the whole story yet," Harry moaned. He shifted forward a bit, letting his head rest in his hands.

"He's saddling me with a _trainee._ Figures since I'm "Head Auror" I can "have patience with someone less experienced" and "teach them the ropes" and all that jazz." Ron let out a low whistle.

"Putting you on babysitting duty then? Nice."

"That's not the worst part."

"Oh yeah?" Ron scooted the chair a little closer, eager to hear the goings on of the department. Harry had to repress a chuckle at how excited his friend became at the prospect of gossip; Ron was worse than most of the women that worked in the ministry.

"Yeah. Turns out the reason I get him is because none of the Deputy Aurors want him. So far everyone he's been partnered with has stormed into Kingsley's office demanding someone else." Harry poured out a shot for himself, and knocked it back in one smooth motion. He offered some to Ron, but the ginger declined.

"Did Kingsley say why?"

"Supposedly, this guy's good. Really good. And he knows it. If he and the Deputy Auror he's assigned to disagree, he sticks to his position and refuses to change it. Most of the time he's right."

"Hmn," Ron pondered, leaning back into his chair. "Isn't that a good thing? I think I'd want to be partnered with someone like that."

"Yeah. The problem is, the fully trained aurors aren't real big on having trainee's tell them where to stick it. And according to Kingsley, that's pretty much what this guy does. Loudly. And Publically. Often." Ron snorted as Harry poured himself another glass.

"Sounds like you two ought to get on just _fantastic_, eh?" Harry groaned as he let his head slip to his desk.

"That's not the worst part."

Harry was just about to continue when the door to his office slammed open unceremoniously.

"Potter, you ruddy, inconsiderate sloth, get your ass up and out from behind your blasted desk this instant. Kingsley wants to see us immediately, and," the familiar looking blonde intruder paused as he shot a glance at the bottle of firewhisky sitting on the Head Auror's desk.

"Your dumb luck better hold out, because if the Minister catches that alcohol on your breath it's going to be _both_ our necks, and if I get fired because of your stupidity you can guarantee the next five years of your life are going to be pure misery." Spinning on his heel, the intruder, now identifiable to Ron as none other than Draco Malfoy, made to storm from the room. Catching sight of the youngest Weasley boy, he paused in his step, issued a curt nod, and was on his way.

As Ron watched the blast from their past stride down the hallway, he turned Harry in confusion.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

Harry downed his second shot.

"That was the worst part."


	2. Exhaustion

_**Harry Potter and all related copyright do not belong to me. Story is compliant through most of the epilogue, meaning I have changed only some names, ages, and numbers of children. There will be slash.**_

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><p>The suspect finally collapsed on the wet ground, unable to struggle any longer. Dashing forward, Draco used his smaller frame to weave about the debris and slap the restraints around the smuggler's wrists, as Harry cast the incantation to activate the portkey within the cuffs before the man gained his second wind. Once the suspect winked out of sight, now safely in the confines of the Ministry's holding cells, Harry sank to the ground himself, utterly exhausted. Since he had become Head Auror, everything had been cushy desk assignments or quick two to four day spells of field work in the surrounding area. This had been his first long-term task in some time, a two week tracking and apprehension of a massive supplier of the newest wizarding drug craze. The suspect, Terrance Kipling, had been giving the Deputy Aurors the run around for months. Once the drug started making its way into muggle communities, Kingsley decided it was time for the Head Auror to step in. It had been awhile since he'd had a job like this. Come to think of it… Harry found his gaze drifting over to his new partner.<p>

Covered from head to toe in sweat and mud, Draco Malfoy stood with the back of his hand to his head, breathing heavily. It had been Malfoy's first big assignment, and Harry had to admit the man had been exceptionally professional about the whole thing. Granted, they still had a rather volatile working relationship. Kingsley was constantly calling out for repairs to their office, for damages caused during their "case discussions." However, the Minister never complained. One way or another the two managed, somewhere within all the back and forthing and throwing points of view in the others face, to uncover whatever vital clue they were missing and wrap things up quickly. As a matter of fact, they did so at a much higher rate than the rest of the partnerships, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion Kingsley was rather pleased. He figured a couple hundred of galleons for renovations every other week or so was a small price to pay. This assignment was no different. They were still at each others' throats, still spewing insults, and still managed to drag the correct conclusion from out of a murky mess of heavily debated false leads.

Yet, not once had Malfoy complained about the job. On Harry's first huge assignment, he had been wet, filthy, and tired. To this day he's surprised Deputy Auror Sherling hadn't just knocked him out to stop his whining. He figured Malfoy, with his lavish upbringing, would be one of the worst offenders, but he never said a word about the crappy conditions. Instead, when they trekked through a thick, gnarled forest, covered with insects, so they wouldn't set off the alerts the perp had set on the path, Malfoy complained about Harry's clothes.

_Honestly, Potter. You're Head Auror. You could at least afford some decent travel clothes. I have to be seen with you._

When they slept in the filthy, pigeon-stool covered loft of a barn, to avoid the attention they would gather at an inn, Malfoy complained about Harry's hair.

_Honestly, Potter. Have you even tried combing it? I was talking to a bird's nest last night, because in the dark it looked exactly like your head. _

Even now, mud-splattered, blood pounding, and exhausted, he'd probably-

"Honestly, Potter. You need some smaller frames. It's creepy, the way those things magnify your bloody eyes." Harry cracked a smile, and Draco raised his brow.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking you were due for a disparaging remark right about now," Harry laughed breathlessly. Draco smirked in turn, picking his way through the mud slowly as he walked towards his partner.

"Ooh, big word. Learn it from Granger?" Harry just rolled his eyes as he stood up, not bothering to correct Malfoy any longer. Hermione had officially become a Weasley over a decade ago, but Malfoy insisted there were so many already, the world hardly needed another "Weasel." Harry merely groaned as he stretched, bones cracking and resettling.

"We need to make our way back to the Ministry, preferably before those idiots in Processing release our fugitive." That was one of the few things that Harry and Draco would always agree on. The Processing Department handled incoming prisoners, wizards awaiting trial, etc., as well as all of the paperwork involved. As far as the Head Auror and his partner were concerned, they were also bumbling, incompetent fools.

"I suppose you're right," Draco sighed, coming to a stop beside Harry. He wiped his hand across his eye once more, and Harry got a good look at the unfocused pupils and the heavy bags beneath them. He quickly swept his gaze across his partner. Draco's usually proud shoulders were sagging heavily, and the mud caking his body could no longer hide the fatigue weighing down his muscles. Then there were the usual bumps, scrapes, and lacerations an auror got on the job. Malfoy had a rather prominent cut above his left eye, which explained why he kept rubbing at it. Harry figured he looked a similar sight himself, what with that tumble into the thickets during the chase, and suddenly his exhaustion seemed much more prominent than before.

"Are you alright to apparate?" Draco looked insulted, but as he opened his mouth to retort his features softened, and he seemed to reassess his answer.

"No… no, I don't think so…" Harry watched Malfoy look away, ashamed to admit his fatigue.

"That's fine. I'll Side-Along you." The blonde hesitated, before grudgingly taking Harry's waiting hand.

"Tell no one." Harry assumed it was supposed to come across as a growl, but in Malfoy's state it seemed almost like a plea.

"Promise," Harry sent back softly. And with a crack, they disapparated.

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><p>Ears still ringing (he doubted he'd ever get used to that noise), Harry leaned his weary body against the papered wall of Grimmauld Place. Draco blinked a few times, then rounded on the Gryffindor.<p>

"Where the hell are we, Potter?" he hissed, pinning Harry to the wall. Harry was disappointed to note Malfoy was still at least an inch taller than him.

"Relax, we're at my place," Harry sighed, ducking under the taller man's arm. "I just thought you might appreciate a shower or something before we went back to the Ministry." Draco's glare didn't soften.

"Bollocks, Potter. Why are we _really_ here?" Harry sighed, starting up the stairs.

"Fine. _I_ want a shower. Maybe even a quick two minute kipper on my couch. If you think you're well enough to apparate, by all means, splinch yourself in my foyer." With that, Harry stepped off onto the second floor landing and made a break for his bathroom.

As the hot water ran down his aching muscles, relaxing his tendons, Harry felt guiltier and guiltier. He couldn't shake the picture of Malfoy, drowning in sagging, muddy clothes, standing around in his living room looking lost. Giving a half-hearted sigh of resignation, Harry washed up quickly, threw on a clean pair of jeans, and headed back downstairs. He was greeted with the same sight he had left with; Draco was awkwardly shuffling about, looking thoroughly out of place and alone in a house that really, Harry recalled, should have belonged to him in the first place.

"Here," he called, tossing Malfoy a towel. "Bathroom's up the stairs, third door on the right. I'll have Kreacher set out some clothes." Draco seemed bewildered for a moment, then murmured a hushed "Thanks," and dashed up the staircase.

Plopping down onto his couch as he heard the water begin to run, Harry moaned as the cushions relieved him of his weight. They were so soft, and clean… Harry shook his head as he pulled himself back to consciousness. As good as a nap really did sound, Kingsley would have his head. He eyed the barren fireplace, and gathered enough strength to cast a quick _Incendio_ at the logs. The heat was instant, and Harry found the cold and rain and mud of the past seven days melting away, out of his memory. Only one thing could make this moment more perfect, but he was technically still on the clock. He settled down into the heavenly extra-squishy couch (one of George's few legitimate gifts last Christmas season) and waited for Draco to finish. The minutes ticked by, and the thoughts of mud, grimy hotels, and intense battles began to creep slowly back.

'_Ah, screw it.'_

He gave in and called for Kreacher, instructing the old elf to bring him a bottle of Ogden's and a large, cozy mug in place of the usual small shot glass. As he heard the running water come to a halt, and the soft padding of bare feet on the carpet, Harry called the house elf back.

"Go ahead and make that two."


	3. Confusion

_**Harry Potter and all related copyright do not belong to me. Story is compliant through most of the epilogue, meaning I have changed only some names, ages, and numbers of children. There will be slash.**_

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><p><em>Clink.<em>

Harry wearily lifted his head up from the desk, suspiciously eyeing the new bottle of Ogden's Finest now resting innocently on the corner.

"You look like you need one," Draco offered, swiveling back in his chair and propping his feet up on his desk.

The two (now full-fledged) aurors had finally developed a somewhat consistent working relationship. The ranting and railing of Head Auror Potter and Deputy Auror Malfoy over a case could still be heard from the atrium floor, and provided ample gossip at tea time. Now, though, they had a budding respect for each other as partners. Harry would always follow Malfoy's diplomatic, slightly manipulative example when came to dealing with problematic public figures (although he would never tell Draco to his face), Draco would always exchange polite nods with Auror Weasley when they passed each other in the hallway (though you would never hear him admit it), and Kingsley only had to replace their office twice a month or so (he was rather pleased about that). Although at least one of them still ended up in the medical wing on a near daily basis plagued with various petty jinxes and creative maladies, courtesy of the other partner and a well-timed Wizarding Wheezes product, the two had begun to grow accustomed to each other's presence.

"I'm working, Malfoy," Harry groaned, running one hand over his stubbled jaw.

"Really? It looked to me like you were trying to drown yourself in your paperwork." Suddenly looking hopeful, Harry looked down at his desk.

"Do you think that'd actually work? Come over here, hold my head under." Draco bit back a laugh. If there had been one thing Potter had surprised him with, and there had been many, it had been the Golden Boy's self-deprecating sense of humor. He settled for rolling his eyes, and reached for his own paper work. Frowning, he skimmed through the stack. He usually kept most of the paper work to himself, preferring to see to it personally that every "t" was crossed and every "i" dotted. Nearly everything for the past week was on his desk, aside from two small stacks he had delegated to Potter and his horrible handwriting. Draco eyed the Head Aurors desk; it was covered in scattered papers and official looking documents. Whatever Potter was doing wasn't ministry business. So, naturally, Draco decided to distract him and cast a quick, non-verbal _accio_.

Harry only had a few milliseconds of warning between hearing "What are you working on?" and having the papers beneath his elbow magically snatched away. Draco ignored the demands of "Malfoy, seriously, give those back!" and perused the contents of the paper from the safety of his own desk. By the time Harry had scrambled out of his chair, slipped on the paperwork littering the floor, and made it to the other side of the room, the blonde had finished the text. Draco leveled a flat gaze at him, and Harry flinched, waiting for whatever rude remark Malfoy was getting ready to make. Waiting. And waiting.

After a long silence, Draco finally opened his mouth to speak. Harry steeled his nerves, determined not to cause any more damage to their floor this month.

"Are you getting custody of the kids?"

"Look, you can just-... what? " Harry stammered, not expecting that question. Malfoy said it with no ill intent, and seemed genuinely concerned.

"I... I'm not sure, I- I mean I don't... really know. I want them, Merlin, I do… but she's their mother. Don't the courts normally put them with the mothers?" the room was quiet again, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you have a lawyer?"

"No… not yet… I've been meaning to, but there's been so much paperwork from _her_ lawyer, and the courts, to fill out, I haven't-..."

"I know a guy," Draco cut off the man's rambling. "Old friend of the family." Malfoy pulled the latest case file towards him, and just like that the conversation was over. Harry walked back to his desk, reeling and slightly shell-shocked. Malfoy had just offered him his personal lawyer.

He reached for the bottle and pulled it towards him.


	4. Conversation

_**Harry Potter and all related copyright do not belong to me. Story is compliant through most of the epilogue, meaning I have changed only some names, ages, and numbers of children. There will be slash.**_

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><p>Harry rubbed his temple as knelt by the fireplace, Ogden's at his side as he spoke into the floo.<p>

"I understand Al, but that's a really dangerous hex. I know you want to stand up for your friends, but whether or not they were threatening him makes no difference. If you had miscast only slightly, and Headmistress McGonagall hadn't gotten there as quick as she had, those students could have died."

Draco, listening from the door of their office, heard a muffled voice say something that sounded suspiciously like, "yeah, but they didn't."

"Al, please," Harry sighed, pleading with his middle son. "You have to be careful. People are just waiting for you to mess up. The moment you and your friends were placed into Slytherin, you were made a target."

Draco heard the boy begin to protest, but his father cut him off.

"I know it's not fair, and it's not right, but that's the way it is Al. And I understand your need to protect them, really I do, but you just _can't _use curses like that and not expect repercussions."

Unconsciously, Draco rubbed at his chest. More murmuring issued from the floo, this time sounding apologetic.

"I know, Al. Look, I'll… I'll talk to the Headmistress, as well as those other boys' parents, and see if I can't work something out. In the meantime, just… just be cautious. _Please._" Harry's shoulders relaxed as the voice seemed to agree.

"Oh, and Albus? If anyone does try to start something again," Draco could picture the child in question rolling his eyes in preparation for the usual platitudes of '_just ignore them,' _or _'tell a professor.'_

"Do try and stick to the _standard_ jinxes and hexes. And you can never go wrong with a well-timed Weasley's product. 'Best served cold' and what not." Albus Potter spluttered in shock as his "Golden Boy" father sent him a sly wink and ended the connection.

Harry stretched as he stood up with a sigh, taking a healthy swig of the firewhisky now grasped in his hand. Draco laughed softly as he moved further into the room, letting his presence be known.

"Trouble with the 'Problem Child?'"

"Oh hush, you." Harry playfully chucked a case file at his partner's head. Draco caught it and set it on his desk. He poked fun at the media frenzy surrounding Potter's middle son, but to tell the truth he was rather fond of the young Slytherin. The few times they had met (when Harry would, every so often, bring one of his children into the office), Draco had been impressed by the boy's reserved nature. Albus had spoken little, and whenever he did speak it was always something worth saying. His posture was straight-backed and relaxed, and his tone serious yet amicable. The boy's mannerisms were such that, if Draco hadn't known any better, he would have thought the boy was raised as a conventional pureblood. As a matter of fact, had he been blessed with a girl, Draco would not have minded arranging a traditional marriage into the family.

Al was the near opposite of Harry, but out of all of the three Potter boys he seemed to have the closest relationship with his father. Having inherited the Chosen One's looks, there had always been a stigma looming over the boy's head, the world pressuring Albus to follow in the Potter patriarch's footsteps. Still, after the initial frustration and misplaced anger with his father had subsided, he had chosen not to emulate the Great Harry Potter, and was instead forging his own, less forgiving path. Draco watched Harry stand back and support the boy discreetly from the sidelines; Albus was the type to flatly reject any obvious assistance from his father. So, Harry kept exactly how proud he was of his middle son to himself, though Draco saw him glow whenever he spoke about Al's latest bout of getting himself into trouble.

'That at least,' Draco pondered, watching Harry sort his desk back out, place the bottle of Ogden's on the corner, and settle down in his chair. 'Is the same between the two.' The partners worked in silence for a while, the scratching of quills on parchment and the crackling of the fireplace filling the room.

"So," Draco offered, after stewing about in his own curiosity. "What did he do?" Groaning, Harry put down his quill and placed his head in his hands. Then, despite the gravity of the trouble Al was facing, he began to laugh. Across the room, Malfoy lifted a brow.

"He stumbled upon a Prefect and a couple of other older students touching and harassing one of his housemates. So, he a cast a hex that lacerated their testicles from their bodies." Draco let out a high bark of laughter as the Head Auror dissolved into giggles.

"It's… it's not… funny!" Harry gasped between breaths, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Regaining his composure, he continued.

"If Al's concentration had been off just a bit, the spell could have gone wild and severed a vital part of those boys' bodies." A smile quirked playfully at the edge of Draco's lips.

"Oh, come now, Potter. I'd say those are pretty vital, wouldn't you agree?" Malfoy finished it off with a leer, raising his eyebrows, watching as Harry blushed violently and gulped down the rest of his firewhisky. The ringing laughter from the Head Auror's office that day could be heard clear down the hall, and Auror Weasley's mouth twisted up in a knowing grin.


	5. Celebration

_**Harry Potter and all related copyright do not belong to me. Story is compliant through most of the epilogue, meaning I have changed only some names, ages, and numbers of children. There will be slash.**_

_**The companion piece to this fic is up: Five Times Ron Drank On The Job (.net/s/7602512/1/Five_Times_Ron_Drank_On_The_Job)**_

_**It is a small, Harry/Ron friendship piece in a similar vein to this one. If you think you would enjoy it, please take a look!**_

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><p>"Now, with the highest case-to-catch rate in the department, this year's Excellence award goes to Head Auror Potter and Deputy Auror Malfoy!" The lobby of the auror department burst into applause as the Minister handed the trophy over to the expectant Draco Malfoy, who in turn was prodding Harry painfully in the back, hissing at him to <em>"Stop cowering behind me like a bloody fugitive, stand up straight, and go out and make nice with your public!"<em>

"Now, all of you, go back to work and catch me some damn criminals," Kingsley yelled good-naturedly, shuffling all of the aurors back to their cubicles. With one last hearty pat on the back from Ron, Harry finally found himself safely within the confines of his office.

He pulled his tie from its knot, gasping for air, and let the ends hang loosely about his shoulders as he popped the first few buttons on his collar. He wiped his brow and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He would never get used to being in the spotlight, and he couldn't stand the looks of adulation from his co-workers when really, he was just doing the same thing everyone was: his job.

"Loosen up, Potter. It wasn't that bad." Harry blinked as a familiar looking fuzzy shape hovered in front of his face. Frowning, Harry replaced his glasses to find Malfoy holding out a bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky.

"What, no champagne?" Draco smirked to match Harry's, and nodded.

"I figured you would prefer this. However, if you'd rather not, I can go fetch a more..._ traditional_ celebratory drink." Draco began to withdraw his hand, and Harry leapt at him, deftly snatching the bottle. The blonde clicked his teeth patronizingly.

"Tsk, tsk, Potter. Drinking on the job, and as Head Auror no less. How scandalous!" Harry laughed as he swiftly leapt over the back of the old couch in the corner with a flourish and lounged across the old-fashioned leather, courtesy of Malfoy's more "distinguished" tastes.

"What are you gonna do about it, huh? Tattle on me to Kingsley?" Harry teased back, enjoying the banter that had now become routine.

"Hmn, I don't know…" Malfoy shimmied closer, taking a seat on the arm of the couch. "After all, you _did_ just receive a major award from the Minister. Something like this could ruin your carefully crafted reputation as the Ministry's little prodigy. Then who would I have to work with? Someone who actually follows the rules, and combs his hair?" Draco let out a yelp, followed by a muffled thump, as Harry ever so gently kicked Malfoy off his perch.

"Wanker," the taller man groaned, pulling himself from the floor. He flopped down onto the couch, atop Harry's outstretched legs.

"Oi, watch it," Harry complained playfully, not really minding the extra weight. After all, Draco wasn't that heavy, and they had been through this song and dance a few times before. The Slytherin issued a noncommittal huff and reached for his own bottle. Harry wiggled around bit until he managed to get comfortable, stretching out his torso as he reclined with his hands beneath his head. They sat in amicable silence for a while, nursing their drinks, taking a breather from the hustle of the day's work. Draco sat just behind Harry's extended legs, crossing his ankles and settling his knees comfortably over Potter's.

"I know what I want."

Harry was startled from his thoughts, and looked up at the suddenly serious blonde.

"For what?"

"For not telling Kingsley about…" Draco gestured about with the bottle.

"Oh?" Harry chuckled, curious. "And what would that be?"

Suddenly, there was a slender hand pressing against his chest and soft lips pressing against his own. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the sound of breaking glass as his drink fell. He paid no attention, and as pink flesh moved gently against his mouth, Harry couldn't think, couldn't breathe. After a few moments, that seemed to stretch on much longer, the heavy warmth lying along his body began to pull away, and a pink tongue lapped almost apologetically at his bottom lip. Harry watched his partner as the other man sat upright, his thoughts completely derailed, and not entirely sure what had just happened. Draco fidgeted in his seat.

"Just… think about it." And then the room was empty.

Harry lay on the couch a bit longer, heart pounding and lips tingling. He shifted, setting one palm on his chest. His hand felt far too large, and too awkward. He licked his lips, and his tongue felt too rough, too dry.

'Huh,' he thought with a wry smile as he returned to his lounging position, hands tucked comfortably back under his head. He closed his eyes with a contented hum.

The firewhisky lay forgotten on the floor.


End file.
